


Valentine's Day

by saltyfeathers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M, Valentine's Day, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-15
Updated: 2013-02-15
Packaged: 2017-11-29 08:43:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/685028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltyfeathers/pseuds/saltyfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam decides to try out a little white magic to make Dean and Cas' Valentine's Day ~extra~ special, because he's a giant girl who prays to the god of doilies.<br/>And then wings happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valentine's Day

**Author's Note:**

> It's not Valentine's Day anymore, but hey, close enough.

"Sam, I am going to murder you," Dean claims as his little brother practically chokes on air from laughing so hard. 

"I mean it. I will kill you, slowly and painfully."

Sam's currently wiping tears out of both eyes as his hiccoughs through the last of his laughter.

"C'mon Dean, Cas'll love it."

Dean rolls his eyes. This thing with Cas is still recent enough to feel new and reasonably awkward to him, so Sam's terrible, awful idea for a Valentine's Day for the two of them is both infuriating and a very good reason to go and find the nearest bag of itching power and liberally apply it to Sam's bedsheets. 

He started it, after all.

"This is not a practical use for magic at all," Dean grumbles, staring in the mirror with a severe pout.

Sam scoffs at that. "It was a little white magic, no big deal. No bodily fluids involved, I promise."

He pauses, considers, and then adds, "Well, none of my bodily fluids, anyway. But I can't guarantee anything for later when you're with Cas."

"Dude!" Dean's neck is flushed and he scrubs a hand over his face in irritation.

"Relax, Dean. Look, I know you're only this flustered about your thing with Cas because he's actually someone you really really care about, so I'll keep the teasing to a minimal, I promise. I want you to be happy, and I want you to be happy with Cas."

"I could have been happy with Cas without this ridiculous getup," Dean informs Sam testily, but he's lost some of his edge thanks to the damn sincerity in Sam's voice.

That edge floods right back in, however, when he looks in the mirror again.

"Sam," Dean groans, examining his reflection fully. It's like a car crash- it's horrible, but he just can't look away.

Somehow, Sam had gotten his hands on some sort of small-time transfiguration spellbook (as much as Dean loves the Batcave, he has to admit that he's not just a little afraid of what else Sam may find tucked away in the dusty shelves), and decoded enough of the Babylonian to work out a simple enough spell to grace Dean with some extra appendages for his "special" Valentine's Day with Cas.

The appendages in question were a set of fluffy wings extending about six feet each from behind Dean, and were wide enough to cover his entire back. Suffice to say, Dean has been walking around for the past hour afraid he'll never get his posture straight again because damn, those wings are heavy. Not only that, but he hasn't even let anything touch them yet, nervous for reasons he's not even sure about.

And of course, because it's Sam, and because Sam is a giant girl, the wings are a mix of pink and red like some fruity bar drink that comes with a colorful umbrella and maraschino cherry on top. 

But oh no, Sam hadn't stopped at the wings. Calling on the friggin god of all that's doily, he had also managed to shazam a goddam toga onto Dean. ("I kind of wanted to go for the cupid look," Sam had explained, "But honestly, I also wanted to be around to take pictures, and there was no way I, as your brother, was going to stand around taking naked pictures of you because... just no.") So apparently, the toga was enough, and it was probably the first time in his life Dean had bothered to question his brother's research, because really, a toga? He would rather go naked.

"Smile!" Sam chirps out, and the phone on his camera flashes, forever capturing this moment, and Dean wants to die. Of all the things he's faced in his short life, from wendigos to demons to the devil himself, Dean's seriously considering sticking this incident on top of the "worst shit I've ever come up against" list. Or maybe letting Sam top the list of "fuckers I need to get revenge on, asap". 

"You better sleep with one eye open," Dean warns Sam.

"Thanks for the warning," Sam says cheerfully, jumping off Dean's bed and heading for the door. "Oh, by the way, how are those rosy cheeks I threw in feeling? You're looking very much the blushing bride tonight," 

Sam starts laughing again as Dean throws the nearest small object at him, and dodges it easily, shutting the door. Dean can hear his laughter echoing down the hallway. And really, as pissed as he is, isn't it a miracle in itself that Sam can laugh like that again? 

Dean paces for a few moments, before finally sighing and deciding he may as well bite the bullet sooner rather than later. Cas expects them to be doing something tonight, and it's not like he's gonna stand the guy up. 

Trying to remember what it feels like to wear pants, and doing his damnedest to hold onto that feeling, Dean tosses up a quick call on the heavenly paging system.

"Castiel, I pray for thee to flutter on down here and remind of how manly and macho I am."

There's the familiar feeling of displaced space behind Dean and the fluttering of the ever-present trench coat, and Cas is there.

"You are very ‘manly’ and ‘macho’, Dean, though I hope you realize you are no less of a man when you are wearing a toga."

Dean turns around, ready to fire off some sort of clever retort, when he gets a faceful of Castiel and almost falls over in surprise. 

He can see Cas' wings. Well, kind of. They're the same kind of wings that Dean currently has, but much, much cooler, to Dean's chagrin. They're a dark midnight blue, slashed through with black and deep purple, and yet seem to shine in certain places. With a start, Dean realizes they're supposed to be the night sky, and the shimmering bits are stars.

"Holy shit, Cas," Dean breathes. Without even thinking about it, he reaches out and strokes his hands through the feathers. They ripple beneath his touch, like the lights during the aurora borealis he saw years ago when he worked a case in Alaska with John. They settle back into form, but Dean can't help reaching out again, running a feather between his fingers gently. It's soft and smooth, like silk but more natural.

Cas smiles lightly, touches Dean's jaw with two caring fingers. "Sam thought it would be some sort of equalizer if we could both see each other's 'wings'. I guess he took it more literally than I thought."

"You mean Sam worked his magic on you too?" Dean asks, aghast. "How'd he get the drop on you like that?"

Mirth dances in Cas' eyes. "He didn't get the 'drop' on me, Dean. He asked me, and I said yes. I still don't understand human rituals as well as I would like, so I deferred to Sam for information about the day that supposedly celebrates the love of all kinds between people."

Dean's face burns a little at the mention of love, but he still manages to ask, "So, why'd you get super cool telescope wings and I get stuck with these strawberry milkshakes?"

The corner of Cas' mouth twitches. "The spell that Sam found can manifest in many ways, but the general aim of it is to show one's 'true colors' so to speak. He modified it to manifest as wings. Unfortunately- or, for him, fortunately- he was able to figure out how to manipulate the spell enough to make your wings look however he liked. I'm sure it was all in the name of brotherly hijinks."

Dean feels his right eye twitch slightly. That bitch is so getting his hand put in warm water every night for the next week.

"But these wings, your wings, I mean, these aren't your real ones, are they?"

Cas shakes his head. "No, seeing my real wings would still permanently damage your eyes, unfortunately. But these wings do show my true essence, I suppose."

"They're dark." Dean states.

"Yes. I've done dark things, Dean. But, as you can see, there are bright spots as well. Stars in a dark sky. Dimensions in the colors and shades. I've felt my essence stirring, changing. Since I met you. Had this spell been performed on me before I raised you from perdition, these wings would have been flat black. But now, they're beautiful. Thanks to you."

Well. That wasn't something you heard everyday, that you literally changed what makes someone who they are.

"That's a lot to live up to, Cas," Dean says hesitantly, wishing he had something better to say in return.

Cas takes his hand, rubbing his thumb over the pale skin of Dean's wrist. "No, it's not." Cas assures him. "It's just you."

Dean licks his lips nervously. This meeting is going a lot different than he planned.

"Anyways," Cas drops Dean's wrist and takes a step back, assessing Dean. "Sam may have been able to manipulate the spell, but I'm sure I can put things right again. Would you like me to, ah, upgrade your wings as well?"

"You mean like, so I can see my essence too?" Dean asks, his nerves shooting up a couple more notches.

"Yes."

"Uh..." Dean never thought he'd miss the pink and red wings, but suddenly he's having second thoughts. Seeing what really makes Dean Dean is more than a little scary.

Cas steps back into his personal space, hand cupping his cheek.

"Dean, I would like to see you."

It's not an order. It's not even a question. It's just Cas and his trademark honesty. Dean could say no, no way, and it would never be brought up again. 

But maybe that’s why. The fact that it really is his decision, and the fact that Cas isn’t playing games or trying to be coy. Cas already is himself. Dean’s already seen his wings. Dean knows Cas, and he wants to continue to know Cas, for as long as this dumb world will allow him to. He wants to know Cas better, wants to know everything that makes him tick.

And seeing those wings manifested, that’s just one more thing Dean can add to the mental list of facts about Cas. 

And of course, if he wants to know Cas, and Cas wants to know him, it’s just some sort of strange, weird circular logic that means Cas should know Dean, too. 

So Dean says yes to an angel.

Cas smiles a real, honest to god, genuine smile, and places his hand gently on the back of Dean’s neck and draws him in for a kiss. Dean expects to feel some sort of magic thrumming through his veins as Cas reworks the spell, but it’s just his blood pumping like normal, and the roaring in his ears that he’s come to associate with Cas’ mouth.

If he wants to get really cheesy about it, he’d say that what he and Cas have is already magic, so what’s adding a little more to the mix, really? 

All in all, it’s a pretty chaste kiss, and sweet as pie. Cas pulls back, eyes blue enough to make Dean’s heart clench. 

“There,” He says, voice just the slightest bit lower than usual. “Normally, I would just touch someone’s forehead to rework the spell, but I felt this might be a more… prudent means to an end.” He pauses, adds, “I also really wanted to kiss you.”

Dean snorts. Yep, Cas in all his honest glory.  
“So?” Dean asks, afraid to look. “Don’t tell me my essence is something lame like a suburban street in the Midwest or the inside of some dude’s refrigerator.” 

Cas is looking at Dean’s wings with wide eyes, emotion welling up in them with alarming frequency. Dean suddenly feels self-conscious, wants to wrap his wings around himself and go smack Sam upside the head for such a stupid idea. But as soon as his wings move into a more defensive position, Cas’ hand shoots out and places a palm against a bed of feathers.

“Don’t, please,” He chokes out, now doing his own wing exploration. He runs a hand along Dean’s wings, examines certain feathers with the same intensity of a scientist trying to split an atom. Dean likes to think he knows Cas’ mannerisms pretty well by this point, and from the way the angel’s shoulders are slightly trembling, he guesses Cas is definitely having something of a moment. 

Not being able to restrain himself anymore, Dean finds his own reflection in the mirror once again. And damn, if his breath doesn’t kind of catch. 

Where Cas’ wings are dark cool colors, Dean’s are vivid and rich warm colors, all golds and oranges and deep reds. It takes him a second to realize that it’s the colors of a sunrise, and then he can’t see anything else. When his wings ruffle slightly with his surprised exhale, he sees the feathers shift slightly, adding edges of blues, like early morning clouds casting shadows across the sky. Right at the tops of his wings, though, it’s dark, cut through with purple and black. 

“Uh… Cas?” Dean says, staring at the top of his left wing like it might bite him if he makes any sudden movements.

“Mmm?” Cas is still mapping his way along Dean’s wings, seeming particularly enamoured with a deep red section near the base. 

“Why do the tops of my wings look like yours?”

Cas straightens up at that, lightly touching one of the dark feathers. His face is soft, and maybe even yearning as he stares at the feathers. 

“The sun hasn’t entirely risen yet,” He says quietly. “Night hasn’t completely faded. There is darkness in you as well, Dean.”

Dean feels his stomach lurch, like he ate an undercooked burger.

“But it’s not just that,” Cas murmurs, grabbing Dean’s hand once again, lacing their fingers together. He uses his other hand to brush along the tops of Dean’s wings, a gentle caress. “It is also the influence of my Grace, your connection to me. Just as you proliferated my wings with bright stars, so did I mar you with my own misdeeds.”

“Whoa, hey, no need to get so down about it,” Dean cuts in hastily. “Cas, your wings- they’re gorgeous, man. That you can share your… essence with me like that, that I can share mine with you- I mean, hey, profound bond, right?” He gives a half-hearted chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. 

Cas shakes his head minutely.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I’m sorry I’ve had this effect on you.”

Dean sputters a bit.

“Cas, don’t even fucking say that. We’ve been through all the what ifs and maybes a million times. We’ve paid our dues, both of us. Don’t you think we’re long past ‘sorry’ by now? C’mon man, we’re here now, right? We’ve made our bed.” He waggles his eyebrows, gesturing to his bed off to the side. “Let’s lie in it.”

Dean closes a hand around Cas’ wrist, guides him to the bed. They sink onto it, Dean on top, trying to show Cas how not sorry he is about ending up here with loving kisses pressed along his cheekbone and underneath his eye, hands still exploring the inky landscape of Cas’ wings. 

“Wait, wait,” Cas puts both hands on Dean’s shoulders, holds him off for a moment.

“What?” Dean asks, exasperated. He’s not ready to get back into the self-hatred that both him and Cas are so well versed in- especially when one of them is in a toga with cupid-pink cheeks and the other still has their freakin coat on.

“I want to tell you something else about your wings, your essence” Cas says, like it’s the most important thing in the world.

Dean sits up, cross legged, and gestures for Cas to go on.

“Your essence, it manifests with the colors of a sunrise,” Cas explains, and Dean nods. “Symbolically, of course. But it’s what that sunrise, those colors, mean. Dean, your essence is beginning. You are the dawn of a new day, the light after the dark. You are the savior. The protector. The revolutionary. You ripped up the script for all of us. Fought Michael, fought destiny. You give people new leases on life. You’re a god in your own way- you create- and I’d wager you’d be a much better one than the one that is currently absent. You are beautiful, Dean.”

And Dean just sits there, gobsmacked. Because all he does is fuck things up. All he does is end things. But here’s Cas- honest Cas, genuine Cas- reading his freakin’ essence of all things, something he’s instinctually certain can’t be faked, and he’s being told he is the exact opposite of what he thought he was. His mind instantly rejects the notion, instantly reminds him of everything he’s ever broken and failed to put back together. But then Cas’ hand is taking one of his, and Cas’ lips are pressed to his palm, warm and loving and again, honest. Cas doesn’t lie to him. Not anymore.

So maybe, Dean doesn’t need to believe it. Not yet. Maybe, for the moment, Cas can believe enough for the both of them.

Of all the things Dean’s ended –relationships, lives, faith, the whole goddamed world- he never thought he’d find himself here, finally starting something. Starting something good. Something pure.

And hell, if he ever needed any proof about beginnings, he could always ask the angel sitting across from him who was there at the beginning of everything. Because if Cas was there, and he saw the same thing then that he sees in Dean now, then maybe Dean has no right to question. Maybe he will, eventually, have to have faith. In Cas.

And as Dean falls, falls into the warm darkness that are Cas’ wings, falls into his mouth, into his arms, into his essence, he understands that the day could not exist without the night. They are forever intertwined. Intertwined like fingers, like tongues, like shared breaths under the covers, under the table, over the moon, over breakfast.

The wings will be gone soon, but Dean will still wake up tomorrow morning with stars in his soul.

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah so this was supposed to be a drabble, but then it wasn't. Nature!wings just really really appeal to me.


End file.
